


Demons

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Bittersweet [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Developing Relationship, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock acts out, but it leads to some necessary conversations between Greg and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

Late in the morning Greg got a call to a scene. It didn’t seem that bad so he didn’t bother texting Sherlock about it. One thing led to another and it was four days before he realized he hadn’t heard from Sherlock at all. He texted and didn’t get an answer. Figuring he might be on a case he decided to give him some space.

When two more days had passed without any contact, Greg started to get worried. He went first to Baker Street and learned he hadn’t been home in at least a day. Cursing, he went back out to his car. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and ran a hand through his hair. He should have paid closer attention. If Sherlock was hurting himself...shaking his head he started the car. It had been a long time, but he still knew a few places to go look.

The third club he walked into he spotted a familiar form in the corner. Taking a breath, he walked over. Sherlock was making out with a young blonde man. It was like a knife twisted in his gut, but he put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Starting, Sherlock raised his head and looked up at the inspector. He was high, at least going by his eyes. Greg squeezed.

“Hey, old man,” the object of Sherlock’s attention growled at him. “Shove off.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s quite time for him to leave.”

The stranger reached for Sherlock’s hand. “You going to let your dad stop us when we’re just getting started?”

Sherlock got unsteadily to his feet. “Not my Dad.” He twisted in Greg’s hand and snogged him sloppily.”

Greg went very still, peeling Sherlock off him. The blonde stood, just a few inches taller. “Sugar daddy?”

“None of the above.” Greg met his eyes.

“Yeah, probably can’t get it up anyway.”

Greg seemed to barely move, but the blonde was stumbling back, grabbing his bloody nose. “Wanker punched me!” He waved in Greg’s direction.

With an arm around Sherlock, Greg was already leaving the club, the cold, determined look on his face enough to keep the bouncers from stopping him. He all but shoved Sherlock into the passenger seat and buckled him in. Sherlock said nothing, curling up around himself and facing the door.

“You’re trying to push me away,” said Greg, halfway back to his flat. “You’re testing me and pushing me to see if I’ll leave you. You don’t think you deserve anyone to care about you. Well John wouldn’t like to see you like this, and I don’t either. I do care, Sherlock, I have cared for years and years. And you’ll not be rid of me that easy.”

“You don’t know what happened,” mumbled Sherlock, still faced away.

“I know you willingly gave up the life you had and your work to protect the people who care about you. I know you’re Sherlock Holmes, brilliant, infuriating and a right bastard, but one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

“And currently high as a kite.” Sherlock tousled his hair.

“I’m not calling your brother.” Greg parked in his spot and came around to the passenger door, opening it. “Come on. Upstairs and you’re taking a cold shower, and then we are going to talk.”

Sherlock looked at him, then hung his head and obeyed, walking in front of Greg up the stairs. He listened to the water start and went into the kitchen, rummaging in his fridge. By the time Sherlock came back out he had dinner started. He stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway in one of Greg’s robes, tied loosely at the waist, hair still wet, little rivulets leaving trails down the cotton.

“There’s some lettuce in the fridge, make us a salad?” Greg softened his tone.

Sherlock moved automatically, still a little off balance, but in a few minutes they were sitting down together at the table. Greg watched Sherlock eat, eyes still downcast. With a sigh, he reached across and took his free hand. “Listen, Sher, I’m not your father. I...could be something...we could be something...but only if you trust me.”

He looked up then, a storm raging in his eyes. “How could you still want me?”

Greg threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s squeezing lightly. “Do you remember the night we met?”

Sherlock nodded, looking down at their hands.

“You were high that night too. And fucking brilliant, despite being a right twat. And I told you that if you sobered up you could help, but if you didn’t I’d be the first to arrest you. You showed up at my next crime scene six days later, completely sober. And until tonight I hadn’t seen you high again.”

A faint smile passed on Sherlock’s lips. “Are you going to arrest me then, Inspector?”

“No. But I need to know, Sherlock. What is this, what are you doing with me? You don’t answer my texts, I find you...like that. If I’m just a fuck, that’s fine, but please, tell me the truth, I deserve that.” Greg sought out his eyes.

Sherlock worried his lip in his teeth. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice quiet.

Reaching with his other hand, Greg tilted his chin to see his eyes. There was fear there and worry, something raw and true. Greg swallowed, wondering for not the first or last time what exactly he was doing here, if he would always be the one reaching.

Sherlock put his hand over Greg’s on his chin and squeezed. “I want you in my life,” he said, voice ragged. “Tonight, I…” he swallowed. “I am sorry. You were on a crime scene and didn’t text me. You did arrest the correct person, but I would have saved you three days of work.”

Greg smiled at him. “I’m afraid I’m out of the habit of texting you. I’ll make sure I do it next time.”

“Good. I can save you a lot of time.” It was the same thing he’d said to Greg on that night, so long ago. This time though, the words were followed by Sherlock leaning forward and giving him a chaste kiss, watching his eyes.

Closing his own eyes, Greg opened his mouth to him, letting Sherlock explore with lips and tongue. Finally he pulled back, still watching him.

Greg stood, still holding his hand, and lead him down to the bedroom. Sherlock dropped the robe and climbed up on the bed. “I wasn’t going to sleep with him.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Greg started getting out of his own clothes.

“You have always been there for me,” admitted Sherlock, grabbing the lube and coating his own fingers. He started fingering himself while they talked. “When you did not contact me on the case I thought perhaps you had decided you no longer needed my services.”

Greg crawled into bed and kissed his knee. “I will always need you. And not only for the work.”

Sherlock leaned up to kiss him. He ran his free hand through Greg’s hair. “Also, I find you a very attractive man. Alex had very poor taste.”

“Was that the man’s name?”

With a bit of mischievousness in his eyes, Sherlock kissed Greg again. “Are you going to check for warrants?”

“Perhaps.” Greg pulled him down by the thighs, kissing the scar on his ribs.

“I was stabbed in Kiev,” said Sherlock quietly. “Fortunately it missed anything too vital and I was able to dispatch my attacker.”

“Quite glad you came back to us,” said Greg, moving his head to kiss his collarbone.

“I am glad I came back to you.”

Greg stopped and looked him in the eyes, searching. Sherlock took his cock in hand and guided it against his entrance, wrapping his legs around his hips. Greg thrust forward slowly and kissed him tenderly, holding him close as he moved inside of him. Sherlock met his thrusts and they moved in tandem, like a slow, familiar, dance they were remembering the steps to.

The climb towards climax was unhurried. Greg ran his hands along his sides and arms, soothing, as Sherlock clung him. Deliberate kisses came between breaths, tasting one another, surrendering. When at last Greg felt his orgasm coming near, Sherlock suddenly squeezed him, and he came with a moan, vaguely aware of Sherlock coming right after, without a hand on his cock. He tangled his hands in Sherlock’s hair and kissed him one more time, falling asleep holding him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this leaves them in a good place, so this is probably the last in the series.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
